Albert Camus wrote "One always has exaggerated ideas about what one doesn't know." He's genius, it's true. Things that are unknown have this way about them - lofty and bright, or dark and damned. Expectations and reality are not friends. They do not meet for coffee and chat about making lives easier. They bicker and divvy up people's feelings. I probably need a reality check. I'm having some sort of identity crisis. Or something. Sometimes, at night, when I'm alone with my thoughts I let them wander to places I've never been and books I've never read and foods I've never eaten. I feel like I'm betraying myself for wanting things I've never wanted before. Or thinking and feeling things that I have never thought or felt before, yet leave me with that strange, familiar lingering of deja vu. At the end of the day, when the night swallows the rest, I'm left. I've capsized. For a moment I think, surely it must be easier to tread water. But I'm too tired to kick and fight and would rather allow myself to be carried out to sea. I don't know how to marry expectations and reality. I'd rather hang tightly to my expectations, but that means I don't really know myself. Or anything else, for that matter. It's just so hard to make them fit.